Good Girl, Bad Blood (A Good Girl's Guide to Murder #2)(4)
‘Joshua got in trouble today, sent to the headteacher.’ Her mum’s brow knotted. ‘Apparently Camilla Brown’s pencil sharpener went missing, and Josh decided to interrogate his classmates about it, finding evidence and drawing up a persons of interest list. He made four kids cry.’
‘Oh,’ Pip said, that pit opening up in her stomach again. Yes, she was in trouble. ‘OK, OK. Shall I talk to him?’
‘Yes, I think you should. Now,’ her mum said, raising her mug and taking a noisy sip.
Pip slid off the stool with a gritted smile and padded back towards the living room.
‘Hey Josh,’ she said lightly, sitting on the floor beside him. She muted the television.
‘Oi!’
Pip ignored him. ‘So, I heard what happened at school today.’
‘Oh yeah. There’s two main suspects.’ He turned to her, his brown eyes lighting up. ‘Maybe you can help –’
‘Josh, listen to me,’ Pip said, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. ‘Being a detective is not all it’s cracked up to be. In fact . . . it’s a pretty bad thing to be.’
‘But I –’
‘Just listen, OK? Being a detective makes the people around you unhappy. Makes you unhappy . . .’ she said, her voice withering away until she cleared her throat and pulled it back. ‘Remember Dad told you what happened to Barney, why he got hurt?’
Josh nodded, his eyes growing wide and sad.
‘That’s what happens when you’re a detective. The people around you get hurt. And you hurt people, without meaning to. Have to keep secrets you’re not sure you should. That’s why I don’t do it any more, and you shouldn’t either.’ The words dropped right down into that waiting pit in her gut, where they belonged. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes . . .’ He nodded, holding on to the s as it grew into the next word. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ She smiled, folding him into a quick hug. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for. So, no more playing detective?’
‘Nope, promise.’
Well, that had been easy.
‘Done,’ Pip said, back in the kitchen. ‘I guess the missing pencil sharpener will forever remain a mystery.’
‘Ah, maybe not,’ her mum said with a barely concealed smile. ‘I bet it was that Alex Davis, the little shit.’
Pip snorted.
Her mum kicked Pip’s shoes out of her way. ‘So, have you heard from Ravi yet?’
‘Yeah.’ Pip pulled out her phone. ‘He said they finished about fifteen minutes ago. He’ll be over to record soon.’
‘OK. How was today?’
‘He said it was rough. I wish I could be there.’ Pip leaned against the counter, dropping her chin against her knuckles.
‘You know you can’t, you have school,’ her mum said. It wasn’t a discussion she was prepared to have again; Pip knew that. ‘And didn’t you have enough after Tuesday? I know I did.’
Tuesday, the first day of the trial at Aylesbury Crown Court, and Pip had been called as a witness for the prosecution. Dressed in a new suit and a white shirt, trying to stop her hands from fidgeting so the jury wouldn’t see. Sweat prickling down her back. And every second, she’d felt his eyes on her from the defendant’s table, his gaze a physical thing, crawling over her exposed skin. Max Hastings.
The one time she’d glanced at him, she’d seen the smirk behind his eyes that no one else would see. Not behind those fake, clear-lens glasses anyway. How dare he? How dare he stand up there and plead not guilty when they both knew the truth? She had a recording, a phone conversation of Max admitting to drugging and raping Becca Bell. It was all right there. Max had confessed when she threatened to tell everyone his secrets: the hit-and-run and Sal’s alibi. But it hadn’t mattered anyway; the private recording was inadmissible in court. The prosecution had to settle for Pip’s recounting of the conversation instead. Which she’d done, word for word . . . well, apart from the beginning of course, and those same secrets she had to keep to protect Naomi Ward.
‘Yeah it was horrible,’ Pip said, ‘but I should still be there.’ She should; she’d promised to follow this story to all of its ends. But instead, Ravi would be there every day in the public gallery, taking notes for her. Because school wasn’t optional: so said her mum and the new headteacher.
‘Pip, please,’ her mum said in that warning voice. ‘This week is difficult enough as it is. And with the memorial tomorrow too. What a week.’
‘Yep,’ Pip agreed with a sigh.
‘You OK?’ Her mum paused, resting a hand on Pip’s shoulder.
‘Yeah. I’m always OK.’
Her mum didn’t quite believe her, she could tell. But it didn’t matter because a moment later there was a rapping of knuckles against the front door: Ravi’s distinctive pattern. Long-short-long. And Pip’s heart picked up to match it, as it always did.
[Jingle plays]
Pip:
Hello, Pip Fitz-Amobi here and welcome back to A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder: The Trial of Max Hastings. This is the third update, so if you haven’t yet heard the first two mini-episodes, please go back and listen to those before you return. We are going to cover what happened today, the third day of Max Hastings’ trial, and joining me is Ravi Singh . . .